


Libation

by tinybread



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hannibal Lecter is Weirdly Into the Vampire Thing, M/M, Vampire Will Graham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22413937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinybread/pseuds/tinybread
Summary: Will Graham lives a secluded life as a vampire until he finds Hannibal cutting someone up in the woods one night. Will thinks he must be quite interesting.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 237





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rated explicit for chapters to come.

Will smelled the blood, deep and thick in the dark forest, carried on the wind. The smell settled on him like a syrupy blanket, coating his throat in burning honey. There was a lot of it. He inhaled deeply, trying to detect the scent of another vampire, a culprit, but he only smelled humans. Curious about more humans committing atrocity in the night, he changed course, following the smell on the wind. 

The faint crinkle of leaves and the wet sound of flesh being cut, and in the clearing was a man knelt over a body, full of purpose and confident in his ministrations. Will watched with detached fascination as he removed a large organ and tucked it away, wrapped in paper, into his jacket. Will remained watching undetected. He’d had plenty of years to practice silently stalking the forest after all, and it was easy to make no sound audible to even the keenest of human ears.

Will remained perched in a tree above this man, hidden behind a layer of leaves, peering through to watch him carefully work. He moved with slow and revelatory confidence, his hands working like sleek and fluid birds pecking away and taking apart the body below him. The coppery, hot smell of blood beckoned him, but he did not move. He only clung to the branches and watched and wondered at the fascination and fear he was feeling, something he hadn’t felt in years toward anything other than another vampire, and his kind were often messy. But this clean, practiced and sure human frightened him in a way he didn’t know a human still could. 

The man rose over his kill and Will retreated further upward into the canopy, out of sight and high into the branches, up and up into the moonlight. He swayed with the trees in the night wind and gazed at the stars, listening to the man moving below him, and when he heard him begin moving south, he followed behind, high in the trees. 

Hannibal finished his work and made his way back to his home in darkness. The woods had been full tonight. With what he did not know, but he felt it was something sensuous and dark, a side of the world not yet revealed to him. He had smelled something strange, something he felt he had maybe smelled in a dream of his childhood, but he could not place it, and though he felt watched he knew there was nobody there. He was not averse to the idea of the supernatural and things he could not see, and was content to wonder if it had just been a strange night or if some strange entity had passed by him. Either way, he hoped that if such creatures exist, that he could someday have one revealed to him, and see the face of the true terror of the world. But he often imagined this on nights where he smelled strange things, or felt the strange presence that it seemed only the woods harbored. 

When Will retreated to the trees in the forest where he often slept, his heart ached with aggressive uncertainty. He had followed the man all the way to his home, watched him through his windows, and he had left without killing him. He had wanted to kill him, and could think of no reason not to. But he never made a move toward the man, and when he listened through the windowpane to the man preparing the meat with most adoration and devouring it so lovingly, he knew why he would not kill him. Why would he kill this human, now that he’s finally found one interesting?

Will watched the man from afar for almost a week before he sensed something strange. He swore he could no longer sense this man anywhere inside his house, but he was not outside, definitely not in the backyard. Will strained with all his senses to try to detect him, jumping to the ground from the tree he was stationed in. He sucked in a breath when he felt the faintest stir beneath his feet. He listened carefully, carefully through the pavement below him and then, through the gap in the street leading to the sewer, he heard breathing and passing footsteps, moving quickly away. He could smell him too. His whole body writhed with prickled confusion and adrenaline. He was in the tunnel of the sewer, and moving quickly. Will waited until he could no longer hear him, then hauled up the nearest manhole cover and silently slipped underground, following his faint footsteps and his warm and spicy scent. 

Will followed attentively as the man carried an unconscious man back through the tunnels and into his home. He locked the entrance tightly, leaving Will in darkness, and he knew he would not gain access here. He made his way above ground to find another way.  
A single window on the second floor was unlocked, and Will removed the screen and slipped inside, replacing the screen and leaving the window open. He could hear that the man was still underground, in the basement. He searched the first floor, but could find no access point into the basement he knew for a fact to be there, as he could hear the man and his movements below him. In the kitchen, the faint sound of the man in the basement seemed clearer, and he knelt to the floor, sensing a hollow space beneath him. He located the seams of the door, setting his fingers into it and pulling upwards, well oiled and absolutely silent. 

Hannibal was firmly securing the man to his metal table with rope, binding his hands, feet and neck to the rivets lining the edge of the table. The drugs were close to wearing off, but a little adrenaline always did the trick. Hannibal injected him and he began to stir under Hannibal’s gaze. 

Will heard the unconscious man suck in a breath as he opened the door, heard him groan and open his eyes. Will descended the stairs and settled onto the concrete floor, meandering towards the light. Peering through the doorway, his object of interest was leaning over the man tied to a table, now struggling. The man straightened and spoke.

“You were watching me, in the forest, the last time I killed.” Will did not immediately register that he was being spoken to, but it slowly dawned on him that he could not be talking to the man on the table, who groaned quietly. Will’s skin prickled. How could he have detected him? He knew he had been completely silent, and he knows he’d remained out of sight, in the canopy. There was no way this man should even be able to know that Will was behind him right now, watching him, and he did not accept it until the man pivoted, turning and looking directly at him. 

Will balked at the look in his eyes, a kind of jovial wicked curiosity and satisfaction he had never before seen in the eyes of any human.   
“How did you get into my house?” he inquired, polishing the knife in his hands idly. Will just stared at him, wondering at the genuine fear he was feeling. He felt out of his depth and almost wondered if this man was some kind of monster he had never before met. He wondered if he should be afraid. Will’s lips were dry. 

“You left your bedroom window unlocked” Will offered. 

The man blinked, nodding. 

“I do often like to leave the window cracked at night,” He confessed matter-of-factly. Will knew. A few nights he’d spent, smelling this man all night through the crack in his window letting the night air in, the crack Will could spread and enter through if he wished. He continued, 

“I guess I ought to be more careful.” He smiled playfully at Will, almost conspiratorially. Will wondered if he should run. But he knew in his heart that while he may be looking at a monster, he was also looking at a man. 

“How did you know I was watching you?”

“I didn’t know at first. I only smelled and felt something strange. But then I smelled you again and again outside my home, and then just now, I smelled you come into the basement, and I knew you were coming for me. So why are you here? Have you come to kill me?” 

Maybe he was a monster. No human had ever smelled him before. Or taken so kindly to being hunted. The man turned and set down his knife, then turned back toward him. The groaning and pleading of the man on the table was merely background noise and they both ignored him. When Will did not speak, the man continued. 

“I’ve been waiting to meet you and wondering if you were only a dream. I will confess I wondered if I was losing my mind, inventing demons hunting me through the forest.”

“I’m no demon.” Will spat. Offended. Usually he scoffed at humans cluelessness, but he felt embarrassed to be called that, by this man. 

“Oh?” the man questioned curiously. “Then will you tell me what it is you are that can stalk so quietly, and hunt me down from the smell of blood? What creature waits outside a bedroom window in the trees night after night, waiting and watching?” 

Will felt embarrassed and exposed and felt that he would have blushed if he had blood in his body. He burned and prickled under this man’s gaze. He replied, 

“First you tell me what you are.” The man chuckled. 

“I’m a man,” he answered, and Will scoffed. 

“What kind of man?” 

“Apparently the kind that attracts whatever kind of strange creature you may be.” He paused. “My name is Hannibal.” 

Will tested the waters and then began slowly walking towards Hannibal. He held his rapturous gaze, and knew no human had ever been this unafraid of him, nor so fascinated by him. He stopped a foot or so in front of Hannibal, emboldened, his shoulders squared.

“You’re really not in the position to be asking questions.” He had gained some of his confidence back after being so shocked. After all, he was only a man. He was nothing to be afraid of. And Will certainly had the upper hand. Hannibal turned his back on him, of all things, picked up his scalpel, and, looking over his shoulder at Will, asked,

“Well then,do you mind if I continue?” Will tried to keep the baffled look from crossing his face. After a moment of consideration, he replied. 

“Please.”

Will lurked quietly over Hannibal’s shoulder to watch him torture. 

Halfway through his butchering and torment of the man, which he had to admit he had been dragging out a little, just for the sake of showmanship, Hannibal realized Will was no longer behind him. He deflated slightly in disappointment, and quickly wrapped up his work. Something unpleasant prickled at him, and he knew it was that he disliked the thought of not being able to keep this creature’s attention. However, he did this for himself and the pure pleasure of it, not for anyone else, whether they be God, monster, or man. But he could not shake his disappointment. He had been hoping the creature would dine with him afterwards. He’d imagined it, bloody and grandiose, red sauce and wine passing over his lips, and the creature eating human flesh with him and reveling in it. But he hadn’t stayed, and when Hannibal came up from the basement, he knew he wasn’t even anywhere in the house.   
He prepared the liver, and ate it alone in the dark of the night. 

When Will couldn’t take it anymore he had retreated up the stairs, through the hatch in the floor and out into the cold night. His very being writhed and screamed under his skin, propelling him forward like driving rain. The blood, the torture, the terror was too much; he had to kill, and he went out into the streets of Baltimore to find a victim.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will does some more stalking and Hannibal invites him to dinner.

A long time ago, Will had been concerned with finding victims he deemed acceptable to kill. Rapists, murderers, thieves and people who hurt others. But he got so hungry in between people, and thought himself in circles in those desperate and dark nights where he couldn't find someone he thought deserved to die. One night, high in the trees, when the moon was full and burning red on the horizon, he knew he was a monster. And a righteous fool. He would never again be human, and would never be able to rejoin their world. Why should he care?

And so he descended to the forest floor, all rabid hunger and devastation and blind rage, and ravaged the town below him, the one he had been living quietly in the woods of for almost a year. He spared no one and drank no one empty, he only killed for the sake of it, for the fact that he would never be human again. He killed blindly to prove to himself that he was a monster, and there was no return for him.

When he tired, covered in blood, he set the town ablaze and bathed in the lake in the red light of the moon filtering through the smoke. He was cold, and burning with savage fire, and he was free, and as much as he could, he did not care anymore. He was a force of nature, a predator. Not a human.

It was easy to avoid detection. He had no home, and he was supposed to be dead. He had no legal trace. There was no one to hunt for. And, of course, he usually spent his time resting high in the trees, or by streams and creeks deep in the woods. Of course they never even got close to catching him. They were hunting a man, and he was no man.

Sometimes when he craved a sense of normality, he would rob the people he killed, even follow them to their homes, kill them, and then live there for a few days, living in the echo of their life and taking anything he might need when he left. He kept quarters in his pockets for when he wanted to use the laundromat to wash his two sets of clothes he kept. He had one small waterproof backpack that held all his belongings that he stashed high in trees, and he would only retrieve it for money, switching clothes, and to take with him when he wanted to move on to another area. Though he did not sweat, his clothes still got dirty from the woods. Moss, dirt, and of course, blood.

He would sometimes rent hotel rooms for a night, but always regretted it. He didn’t sleep, and he would only sit on the bed all night, gazing out the window, or watching pointless and frustrating television. The television felt like it should be nice. To see everything happening in the world he was no longer part of. So much had happened in the human world since he had been turned. It was equal parts reassuring and agonizing the way the world carried on without him.

People’s homes were much more rewarding to spend his time in. They had belongings, photo albums, diaries, and more that he could rifle through until he became bored or someone came knocking on the door, wondering where their neighbor or friend or lover had gone, and he would disappear out the back door or a window.

He sometimes felt a prickle of guilt when loved ones came calling, but he was always gone by the time they came in. He never saw their faces.

  


Watching Hannibal torture had been unlike anything he had ever seen from a human, and not even truly from a vampire. He hadn’t met many throughout his life, but they were viciously irritating. But Hannibal possessed a savage grace, and a heinously fulfilled satisfaction. He abhorred it and loved it. It drew him in like an open and panting maw. He remembered getting close to feeling satisfied, briefly. He wondered if that was something his kind was capable of, especially the longer their lives went on. He sometimes wondered how he would die, and if he even could. But he never lived. He moved like a ghost through the world.

Hannibal had awoken something in him, something that prickled and burned at his throat and still heart. He yearned for it. He wanted to see. He wanted to taste what Hannibal was chewing on now that he’d glimpsed it. The way Hannibal worked was beautiful.

He wanted to scream. All that could come of this was he would eventually kill Hannibal and move on. But he didn’t want to kill him. He wanted to know him, and witness him unleashed on the world. He was careful and polite and almost interesting. And he hadn’t met anyone like that in a long, long time.

  


Hannibal flicked off the lamp, retiring to bed. Before he laid down, he thought better of it, and slowly padding across the floor, he opened the window just a crack. He crawled under his covers and lay staring at the ceiling. The creature occupied his thoughts entirely. He knew this man was something other than human, but what? He had almost seemed offended when Hannibal had referred to him as a demon. He wanted to question if he could even believe this man was truly inhuman, but he knew he could. He had doubted the existence of such monsters, but never threw away the idea altogether. He knew the word could always be more fascinating, with more to offer, if only you can find it. Or, he thought, closing his eyes and barely smiling, if _it_ finds _you_.

He would draw him in with the spectacle of his killing. Hannibal had not been intending to kill anyone else soon, but a change of plans was in order, and it was always easy to find a victim. They bared themselves to him like sunflowers bare their face to the sun, and he was unashamed to gaze into their beautiful and foolish faces and pluck them from the earth.

  


By the time Will had found someone to kill and worked off his manic energy, it was morning, and he retreated to the woods near Hannibal’s house. He clung to the cold branches under a grey sky, gazing out across the fields and waiting for the night to fall.

He still didn’t understand how Hannibal could smell him the way he did. He pondered the strange man into the darkness, and then crossed the fields into the small neighborhood. He climbed quietly onto the roof of Hannibal’s house, wary of the windows lest Hannibal smell him again.

He waited, hidden, until Hannibal emerged and locked his back door, disappearing into the darkness.

It was easy to follow him to a secluded house he quietly slipped into, deep into the night after the moon had risen. Will listened to the faint and brief commotion within, and entered through a second story window. They were rarely locked.

He followed the smell of blood to the first floor, into the living room where Hannibal sat on the couch, wearing a ridiculous plastic suit and skinning a man barely alive.

“Hello again.” Hannibal said without turning around. “I’m glad you decided to join me.” Will scoffed.

“You knew I would follow you here.”

“I had hoped. I wanted to meet you again. I’m terribly curious about you.”

Will circled around so he was standing in front of Hannibal, coming to a halt and eyeing the wheezing and bleeding man Hannibal slowly turned inside out. His eyebrows furrowed, he cocked his head and asked Hannibal,

“Why?” He scoffed. “Why would you want a monster to stalk you?” Hannibal continued his precise cutting but answered,

“How could I not? I know you are not human.” Will’s skin prickled. There was that creepy feeling again. That feeling that Hannibal saw, and knew more than he should.

“The world always has more to reveal, and I am eager to see all of it. And, as you can see,” He said, gesturing to his work of art with his scalpel, “That I am of what some would call the strange and even macabre.”

“So, you’re telling me you want to be stalked by a monster that could kill you because you’re evil and you think it would be interesting?” Will said, aghast.

“I certainly do find it interesting.” He paused. “You keep calling yourself a monster.” He looked up at him imploringly. “What is it that you are, really?” Will narrowed his eyes at him. 

“Why don’t you take a guess?” Hannibal closed his eyes, nodding.

“Well, I certainly don’t wish to offend. I know you are not a demon. And with the way you seem to have tracked me down from the smell of the blood I let, my first guess would be vampire.” Will stared at him coldly. He wasn’t surprised he’d figured it out, just confused that he seemed not to question his existence or be in denial in any way whatsoever. The opposite, in fact. He was throwing his entire being fully into the concept that vampires were real. He loved it.

“Why are you not afraid?” Will demanded.

“Have I guessed correctly?” Hannibal inquired. Will gazed at him darkly. Hannibal continued, “There is nothing in the world I am afraid of, because I am not afraid of death. I know I could die at any moment. And however it happens, I know it will be a beautiful and fascinating moment, especially so when new horrors of the world are constantly unfolding themselves to me.”

“Am I a horror of the world?”

“You are to some. I’m sure you have been a very personal and ultimate horror to many.” He felt Hannibal gauge his reaction. He wasn’t wrong. He continued, “What is your name?” Will hesitated. He should kill him now. Instead, he relented.

“Will. Will Graham. Not that my last name matters anymore.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Will Graham.” His smile reached his eyes. “Would you join me for dinner?”

Will couldn't help but think that this couldn't be happening. This wasn’t happening.

"Is there a dress code?" Will asked, eyeing Hannibal's plastic suit.

"No. Come as you are, tomorrow night." 

Will slipped out into the night and watched through the window as Hannibal sat the now dead skinned man on the couch. He brought the skin out into the front yard and hung it on the clothesline, in view of its owner in the living room. Will was perched in a tree on the edge of the yard, and he burned when Hannibal looked directly at him and spoke.

"He's saying goodbye to his old skin," he stated with assured and pointed purpose, then turned and withdrew into the treeline.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has feelings.

The food smelled amazing; better than any food Will had smelled since becoming a vampire. Food didn’t really smell good to him the way it used to, but he remembered when it had, and he associated the smell of food with the feeling still. But this smelled different; it enticed him, and he figured it was probably because it was at least closer to what he was supposed to be eating. 

He refused to believe Hannibal was just that good of a cook, but he could not deny that the feast was beautiful. Antlers and red flowers adorned the table, elegant and severe and jarringly beautiful. There were candles burning among the display, sending flickering light over the table, light that flitted among the decoration and food and over their faces, giving the room a strange sense of fluid and subtle movement in the dim light. Hannibal entered the room with the main course, setting his plate across from him, a self-satisfied smile gracing his face. 

“Loin, served with a Cumberland sauce of red fruits and blood. Cooked extra rare and marinated in blood.” Will suppressed his urge to laugh. He was absolutely shocked by this bizarre man. 

Blood orange on the side. 

The food screamed, ‘this is art specifically to commemorate the vampiric vampire I am currently feeding human flesh to,’ but Will tried not to read too deeply into that aspect of it, seeing as looking around Hannibal’s house, there was a good chance the meal would look somewhat like this whether he was human or not. There was no doubt there would be the same level of surreal performance. 

“Do you usually marinate your dishes in blood and serve them raw?” Hannibal sat across from him primly, unbuttoning his suit. 

“No, but I figured it would be appropriate in this scenario. Since you explained that the reason you often forsake human food, or should I say food for humans, is because it’s bland and unnecessary, I attempted to create something you may find more savory.” He tilted his head, smiling lightly and raising his fork and knife, cutting into the red meat below him. Will noticed with amusement that the food on Hannibal’s plate appeared noticeably more, well, cooked. Raising his fork and knife, he cut a triangle out of the decadent looking meat, dragged it through the sauce and popped it in his mouth. He had never eaten raw flesh before and was fully prepared for it to be disgusting. 

_Oh_. His fangs had emerged completely. He’d gotten good at controlling them over the years, and he was surprised they had slipped out without notice. Hannibal watched Will’s face change from a look of bewilderment and trepidation to voracious ecstasy. Will had never expected to enjoy food again, but this was more than enjoyable; it was delicious and it nourished him. He quickly took another bite, and then another and another, before realizing he was letting his table manners slip. He reigned himself in, glancing up at Hannibal only to see that he wasn’t eating at the moment, but staring at him rapturously. Will cleared his throat, sitting back and looking away embarrassed. 

“This is delicious. Thank you.” He tried not to mutter. Or smile, seeing as it would bare his fangs completely. But it didn’t really matter, did it? Hell, Hannibal would probably love that his food had elicited such an animal response from Will. He could use the excuse that it was just the sheer amount of blood, which was a big part of it, but the food was truly delectable as well, swimming with flavors that married with the blood in vicious coppery harmony and set all his senses alight. Hannibal’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction at him from across the table. 

“Does this satisfy your craving for blood well enough?” He requested. Will wanted to smack himself. He couldn’t tell whether he regretted coming, if he was relieved he did come, or if he was absolutely enraged at himself for allowing himself to do this. 

“Yes,” Will relented, “More than enough,” he admitted, looking down and cracking a small smile, just enough to bare a single fang partially. He glanced up at Hannibal while smiling, putting his fang on display for his new friend and fellow freak of nature. The satisfied acknowledgement was there in Hannibal’s dark eyes. Will considered the possibility that he may be in way over his head. 

He’d had acquaintances and lovers since he’d changed, but they always ended painfully and unpleasantly. Being a natural predator to humans doesn’t necessarily lend itself well to being close to them both physically and emotionally. The people he loved either decided he was too creepy for apparently not having a house or more than two pairs of clothes, or Will had to leave before they noticed he remained ageless. Not that it would really matter, but the secret of vampires seemed like one to keep away from humans. The ones he contemplated telling, he loved too much to burden them with the knowledge, and he loved them far too much to risk having them run from him in terror, and living their lives in fear that he would come for them. It was better to break up, or just disappear altogether. 

He’d stopped taking lovers and acquaintances a while ago. 

Will considered the fact that he wouldn’t have at least a few of these problems with Hannibal. For one, he already knew he was a vampire, and he obviously loved it. Will considered chiding himself for considering Hannibal as a potential friend or lover, but thought better of it. The guy is a goddamned serial killer. If he was ever going to have a human friend, Hannibal was probably one of the best options; an option he wouldn’t have to feel bad about if things turned sour, if Hannibal got hurt. And Will was certainly drawn to him in a way he couldn’t entirely explain. 

“You must let me cook for you again. It certainly presents a challenge, and I truly enjoy your company.” That broke Will out of his reverie. 

“Tired of eating your human flesh all alone?” Hannibal just smiled good-naturedly at him. Will would never have suspected this man was a serial killer if he hadn’t walked right in on him butchering someone. 

“I do enjoy company occasionally. I have friends.” 

“I don’t,” Will replied crossly. 

“Have you tried the wine?” Hannibal inquired, obviously noticing that he hadn’t, and urging him to do so. He followed Hannibal’s lead by swirling the wine in the glass and inhaling before he took a sip. Like the food, it held the strong aroma of blood. Chuckling, he asked, 

“Is there blood in your wine as well?” Hannibal smiled. 

“The same amount, actually. This is my own recipe, one I crafted some years ago and only enjoy privately. Until now, that is.” He held his wine glass up to Will for a toast, eyes sparkling conspiratorially. “To new discoveries, and new beginnings.” 

Will raised his glass and drank. 

“I must ask,” Hannibal began with hesitation, “How many vampires stalk this world? Compared to humans, at least?” 

“Not many.” Will answered. “Not enough to run into them often at least. I smell them on the wind more than I see them. I’ve probably met less than 10 in my life.” 

“So, no secret society of vampires, then?” Hannibal inquired. 

“Not that I know of. Not that I’ve ever talked to another vampire long enough to find out,” He admitted bitterly. 

“Not a fan of vampires?” Hannibal cocked his head. 

“Not a fan of talking.” Will corrected venomously, adding, “Hard to find anyone worth talking to.” A self-satisfied glint shimmered in Hannibal’s eyes. He hadn’t intended it as a compliment, but Hannibal certainly had taken it as one. 

“Do you know of any other inhuman creatures such as yourself? Is the world haunted by more than just your kind?” 

“You mean other than yourself?” Will jabbed, smiling bitterly. Hannibal certainly sometimes seemed inhuman. He wouldn’t believe he was if he couldn’t constantly smell his blood in his veins, hear it rushing in tune with the beat of his heart, if he couldn’t practically feel the warmth of his skin from across the room. 

“Yes, other than myself,” Hannibal replied with no sense of sarcasm. Will idly mused if Hannibal fancied himself as a demon, or a god. He wouldn’t be surprised. 

“I smell them. I haven’t met them, or even seen them. It seems monster etiquette requires that we leave the others alone. Or else there is some sort of feud I’m not aware of. I’ve never been approached, or even stalked. Some of them almost smell like vampires, but different. Some smell animal, but like no animal I’ve ever seen. And some of them,” he paused, recalling the dark and mysterious scents he’s detected over the years, flitting through the forest at night, throat quivering, “Smell like nothing I can imagine.” He turned to look at Hannibal with haunted eyes. “Some creatures I know to exist, I never want to meet.” Hannibal saw the very real fear in Will’s eyes, the terror of prey recognizing predator. He wondered what strange creatures Will had scented on the night air, and was fascinated by what could possibly frighten a vampire. He wondered if there were creatures that feast on vampires. There must be. What a wonderful world, he thought, always hiding horrors to reveal. 

“We can only guess what other creatures may haunt the world we live in,” Hannibal began, “Unless we were to seek them out,” he stated ponderously. 

“Don’t try monster hunting. For your own sake. Not every creature out there is going to be as nice to you as I am." 

“Why are you ‘nice’ to me, Will?” Hannibal poked. “Are you simply waiting to devour me? Or do you possibly find me interesting?” The next thing Hannibal knew, Will was gone, leaving the window open with the night air sighing through the curtains mournfully.


End file.
